


The Phone

by 391780 (goblinparty)



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 06:58:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2803658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goblinparty/pseuds/391780
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As soon as you see the gold Riviera pull into the driveway, you feel your heart drop into your stomach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Phone

As soon as you see the gold Riviera pull into the driveway, you feel your heart drop into your stomach. Denver had warned that Fargo might retaliate, that they might go to extreme lengths to exact revenge since you managed to make off with a couple million dollars worth of weapons and ammo. You'd been told to keep an eye on strange vehicles lurking around, unexpected visitors, and even strangers trying to pick you up at bars. You watch as two men climb out of the car, the shorter one making a beeline for your house while the other one pulls something out of the trunk.

You run to the panic room, bare feet slapping against cold wood floors, bolting the door behind you and switching on the security cameras. You watch as the taller man, dressed in a leather fringe jacket, pulls out what seemed to be an enormous drill from the trunk. You scan the multiple screens, desperately searching for the shorter bearded man in the nice suit. You toggle the joystick in front of you, moving various cameras to get a better look around. Nothing.

You hear the front door crash open and reach for the phone, but when you put it to your ear there is no tone, only silence. The bearded man appears in view of one of the cameras, clearly holding wire cutters.  _Fuck._ You desperately pat yourself down, only to remember you left your cell phone on the kitchen counter. You sit and stare helplessly at the screens, watching as the two men wander through your home. The taller one with the drill finds the door to the safe room and gestures wildly to his partner, who is seemingly preoccupied with judging your taste in furnishings. He looks directly into the camera that's pointed at him and grins wickedly, and it sends a chill down your spine. 

“Anybody home? Can you hear me in there?” You freeze at the sound of his voice. It sounds just as menacing as he looks. There's no way to communicate with him verbally (other than opening the door, which is NOT happening) so you simply jiggle the camera's joystick, making it nod to the bearded man. He smiles even wider and gestures to his partner, who chuckles and continues setting up the drill outside the door.

Oh no. Oh fuck. They're drilling in. 

“I'll introduce myself. I'm Mister Numbers, and my friend here is Mister Wrench. We're from Fargo.” He gestures to his partner. “Wrench here is prepared to drill a hole right through the central locking mechanism in your door so we can have a little face to face chat. However, if you'd just open the door we can spare ourselves a few hours of boredom waiting for the damn thing to open. What do you say?” You lean forward, resting your elbows on the control console and burying your face in your hands. They're coming in, it's only a matter of time, and there's no way to escape them. They've obviously prepared enough to not only know you have a panic room, but also how to get into it. A low grinding noise starts up from the other side of the thick titanium door. Your mind races, trying to think of anything you could do. There's nothing in here but surveillance equipment, a dead phone, some canned food, a cot, and some fireproof blankets. You look up again to see Mister Numbers walking into the kitchen, apparently looking for something. You watch in horror as he picks up your cell phone, and your stomach drops when you see the devilish smile on his face as he fiddles with it. Oh, God, what could he be up to? You watch as he scans the kitchen, and find yourself holding your breath the second he spots the camera. He grabs a chair and saunters closer to it, taking a seat and looking you dead in the eyes. Well, dead into the camera, but you're frozen in horror and entirely transfixed by this man. He hasn't outright threatened you, but it's very clear he and his partner will take a lot of joy out of killing you.

“It's so much quieter in here, it'll much easier for us to talk. Granted, if you'd just open the door...” his voice trails off as he looks through the doorway towards the drill, still grinding away while his partner held it steady. He shrugs. “But I digress. You know who we are. You know why we're here. Surely you must realize how completely and totally fucked you are, right?” His smile reminds you of the Cheshire Cat, all teeth and malice. He holds up your cell phone. “I've just sent a little message to your partner. I assume Mister Snow is your partner and not your dentist or something? Either way, they'll be here shortly.” 

You slide off your chair onto the floor. It's bad enough you'd gotten yourself into this mess, but your carelessness is going to cost your partner, too. You desperately try to think of something, anything, to get them to leave. But there's no hope. You'd left your only means of contact on the fucking kitchen counter, and it was used against you immediately. Now you're trapped like a rat, waiting to die. Waiting to watch your friend die. The drill sounds like it's getting louder. You watch as Numbers rifles through your pantry, grabbing a bag of Scrunyuns and popping a few into his mouth nonchalantly. Tears sting your eyes and threaten to spill down your cheeks as you see Snow's car pull up into the driveway. You watch as Wrench and Numbers paused their drilling operation to go outside to meet him. Snow is barely out of the car before Numbers shoots him in the leg, blood pouring everywhere. Wrench easily lifts Snow's scrawny frame over his shoulder and carries him into the kitchen, sitting him down where Numbers had been not fifteen minutes prior. It hasn't been very long, but he already looks pale and weak from the blood loss. You give in and sob on the floor, and you close your eyes as you hear the drilling resume. 

“OK, Mister Snow, here's the deal- your partner is refusing to come out and chat with us. Surely you can convince 'em to come out and play?” Numbers throws a sinister smile to the camera. Snow is in bad shape, still pouring blood all over your floor. You sit in horrified silence, unsure what to do. Minutes pass and nothing comes to mind, and Snow looks like he's about to pass out.

“It seems they don't care about you. Pity.” Numbers pulls his gun out of his coat and sprays the wall with Snow's brains. You scream without thinking, and you see Numbers throw a glance towards the thick metal door. He heard you over the drill, and it looks like he's taking a lot of pleasure in your pain. He pulls out your phone and twiddles with it.

“No family contacts in here... smart... hmm.” He snaps it shut, and looks directly into your security camera again. “I suppose I could just order a pizza, bring in the delivery guy to convince you...” You suddenly hear the drill stop, which seems to grab Numbers attention as well. He turns to his partner, moving his arms erratically. Oh, they're signing! Shit, you took ASL back in high school, but unless they're asking where the bathroom is or what color the sofa is, you're shit out of luck in terms of translating. You watch them sign frantically to one another, obviously annoyed at the lack of progress on the door. The only word you can make out is 'broken'. Wrench throws up his hands and heads outside to the car, and you realize it's your only chance. You have to take it now or you'll never get another opportunity to save your own skin. You grab the fireproof blanket and watch the monitors. Wrench stalks out to their car, pulling out what seems to be a toolbox, rifling through it. You rush the door, and pull it open as fast as you can, taking Numbers by surprise. He barely has time to snarl out something menacing when you throw the blanket over his head and pull the large framed painting off the wall and bring it crashing over his head. You sprint to the back door, and run out into the woods as fast as you can. The downside to living in a big mafia house with a panic room is that the neighbors are miles away, which means the next stolen getaway vehicle is miles away. You're shoeless, coatless, and freezing cold while you run as fast as your frozen body can carry you. You can hear your back door slamming yards behind you, and Numbers swearing loudly. If he wasn't determined to kill you before, he certainly was now. Out of the corner of your eye you see the gold Buick speeding along the road parallel to the woods. Wrench must be driving it. 

You can see your neighbor's house come into view through the trees, their red Ford parked out front, probably with the keys still in it. You push your tired, frozen legs as hard as you can against the ground, hoping it'll be enough to help you escape. You're so close to the car, and suddenly you feel a force collide into you as you roll over the hood of the Riviera. You'd been shot, stabbed, and pushed down a flight of stairs before, but you hadn't been run over until this very moment. You blearily open your eyes to see Numbers come out of the woods laughing and red-faced as steam poured from his nose and mouth into the frigid air. 

“What in the hell is going on here?” You hear your neighbor's voice, and then two loud pops before the sound of a body falling into the snow fills your ears. You don't have to look over to know what happened. Large hands roughly grab your ankles and pull you through the snow towards the rear of the car. Numbers is soon looming above you, sniffling in the cold but still grinning broadly.

“You thought you were clever, huh? Too bad it wasn't enough.” He and Wrench lift you up and throw you in the trunk, which has already been neatly lined with plastic sheeting. Numbers removes the toolbox from the trunk before slamming the lid shut with more force than necessary. 

It takes you a minute or two of lying in the darkness to figure out you're not going back to your house. 

-

It feels like you've been in that cold, dark trunk for at least an hour now, and while your body is grateful for the chance to rest, it has you worried. You had assumed they'd outright kill you, like Snow and your neighbor. They had the opportunity to. Numbers could have just shot you from the porch, or Wrench could have run you over again and again until you dies, or put a bullet in you or... You sigh and try to clear your head. Whatever is going on, you're going to just have to roll with it until you can figure out what to do next. The car stops, and you hear the motor turn off. Crunchy footsteps round the car, and you scoot yourself as far back into the trunk as you can. The trunk pops open, and both men have guns pointed at you. Numbers is still smiling.

“You gonna come out of there peacefully, or are we going to have to... persuade you?” You put your hands up in obvious surrender. You're unarmed, hurt, and possibly frostbitten. Your best bet is to cooperate until you can figure something out. You see Numbers nod to Wrench, who yanks you out by your shirt collar. Numbers presses his gun to the small of your back.

“Move.” He hisses into your ear. Your legs are stiff but they follow his orders automatically. Ahead you can see a small warehouse, steel walls with flaking paint indicating old age. It looks like it hasn't been occupied for a while. That's a bad sign. Wrench walks ahead of you and opens the door, surveying the area, probably to make sure there won't be unexpected company. Numbers pushes you inside, and you stumble forward, trying to keep from falling on your face. You feel him kick your knees out from under you, sending you crashing painfully to the floor. You lie there and writhe a bit in pain as you feel Wrench grab your ankles again and start pulling you towards the back wall. You can't see very well in the dark, but you can hear Numbers fiddling with something metallic and clanking. The shackle is around your ankle before you can even process what's happening. Suddenly, Numbers is on top of you, sitting on your chest, pressing the cold gun to your cheek.

“You fucked us.” You find yourself involuntarily holding your breath as he growls out his words at you, his dark eyes boring holes into your very soul. “It's not very often someone can fuck us and get away with it. Takes a lot of planning, a sharp mind, lots of resources.” He softly traces the outline of your lips with the barrel of the gun before shoving it in your mouth. You try not to gag on the metallic taste as he continues. “So here's what we're gonna do, you're going to help us fuck Denver right back. You'll tell us everything we need to completely decimate that operation. If you're good to us and behave yourself, I'll kill you quickly.” He shoves the barrel further into your mouth, the sight scraping the roof of your mouth. Wrench flips on some lights, which flicker before warming up and giving off a faint glow, and you can see a bloodstained mattress and ratty blanket against the wall, and a rusty radiator with a shiny new chain leading from it to your ankle. Numbers removes the gun from your mouth and stands up, swinging his arm out in a dramatic gesture to the lumpy mattress.

“Welcome home.”

-

The next morning you're woken up with a bucket of cold water dumped on your bed. Wrench silently smirks at your shocked face gasping for air while Numbers laughs out loud. He sits on your hips and pulls out a long knife and cuts deep slashes into your legs.

“Where does Denver keep his money?” You bite your lip, and he continues to cut into you. “Where?” His voice is unnervingly calm. Blood pours out of your body onto the mattress, and your eyes well up. You wonder if keeping Denver's secrets are even worth it. Wrench strides over and pulls a green plastic bottle out of a bag, popping the cap open and dumping it on your open wounds. It's lemon juice, and it makes the cuts sting even more acutely. You scream in pain and Numbers pulls the wet, limp pillow over your face and presses down, smothering you. You flail weakly, losing air and overcome with searing pain. He holds the pillow over your face for what feels like eternity before yanking it off and holding your face in his hands gently. He brushes a tear from your cheek with his thumb before leaning down and whispering into your ear.

“I can do this all day. Can you?”

The rest of the day is filled with more beatings and interrogations, with just a small bowl of ramen as our meal for the day. You piss and shit in a bucket, and they take turns standing watch over you during the night. Wrench sits silently, glaring at you occasionally from over a book (some Zane Grey novel), while Numbers delights in antagonizing you, eating a full meal in front of you while your stomach growls loudly. When he thinks you've fallen asleep, he whispers all the different ways he want to cut you apart so you die slowly and in pain. You try to keep your crying quiet, but he hears it and lets out a mocking laugh loud enough for it to echo off the bare metal walls. You only get four hours of sleep before the whole process begins again with Wrench kicking your ribs with his big boots. You could swear you heard something crack, but you keep it to yourself and bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying again. His large hands wrap around your throat, and your feebly try to pry them off of you as he slams you against the wall. He's not cutting off your air, but it's terrifying to have such a large man hold such a delicate part of your body so firmly. Numbers enters in the warehouse with someone else in tow. A short, thin person with a bag over their head. Numbers pushes the other person to the floor, and that's when you see it- Mister Hare's bright blue watch. Fuck. Hare is a bigmouth, he'll give up all of Denver's secrets before you can and they'll kill you for sure. Wrench notices you looking behind him, and turns to see Numbers. They give each other a genuinely friendly smile, which unnerves you a bit. Numbers pulls the sack off of Hare's head, and Wrench lets go of your throat. They both circle you and Hare a few times, exchanging knowing glances and the occasional sign. Hare is shaking on the floor, scared out of his mind. Fucking greenhorn. You always expected him to die in the field, but fuck, you didn't expect to have to watch it. 

“We're going to have a little contest,” Numbers says at last. “We need to know where Denver stashes his cash reserves. One of you is going to tell us where. First one to name the place lives. On your mark...” You see Hare's mouth open, and decide at once that Denver isn't worth a slow death or any kind of death at all.

“Storage unit in Broomfield. Some tacky place with purple trim. B... uh... B 23, I think.” You manage to gasp out. Numbers raises his eyebrows in surprise, as if he'd expected you to just sit quietly and accept death. Ha. Never.

“Winner, winner.” He sounds almost bemused as he swings his gun towards Hare and fires, spraying blood and bone and brain against the walls and floor. Wrench grabs Hare's small, limp frame and shoves him into an oversized plastic bag as Numbers slowly stalks towards you as if you're some stray dog he's trying to take home. He holsters his gun and holds your face in his hands, his eyes locked on you.

“You gonna start playing ball with us now?” You nod weakly, and Numbers grins and nods to Wrench, who gives you a surprised smile as he drags away Hare's corpse. Numbers gives you a pad of paper and a pen, and instructs you to write down everything you know, starting with who works for Denver, and working through different operations. You figure if they want to take down Denver, they will, and your death won't stop them. You may as well give them what they want and let them destroy Denver. Even if they don't let you live, you've at least been promised a quick death for cooperating. 

The next day is relatively peaceful. Wrench brings you some food in the morning while Numbers goes over the notepad with you, clarifying anything he has questions about. He flips through it a few times, grinning to himself. You note that his smile is never warm or friendly, it's always got an edge of violence to it. They both leave, and it's days until you see them again. When the door finally opens up, you're starving, shaking from the cold, and the shackle around your ankle has chafed you raw. Your wounds are festering, and you feel incredibly weak. There's no way you can get out of here alive without their help, you can feel your body starting to shut down. Numbers smiles brightly at you, and Wrench drops a bag of McDonald's at your feet. You wolf down as much as you can while Numbers strokes you hair and laughs.

“Here you are, the rat the brought down Denver!” He crows. You freeze. You knew giving them that information would lead to the death of all of your colleagues, but you had hoped maybe someone had noticed you were taken, that they had come up with some sort of plan. Seems you had overestimated Denver, and now they were all gone. Numbers strokes you hair as you finish eating, and the way he's looking at you is unnerving. You see Wrench wave to get his attention and point to his watch. He looks impatient.

“Our boss wants a word with you. Since Denver is gone, he's decided to set up his own operation down there, and thinks having a local run it is a good idea. You up for it?” Numbers' face is uncomfortably close to your ear, and you can feel his warm breath on your neck. You nod silently. Anything is better than being left here to die. Wrench grabs your ankle and fiddles with your restraint until is snaps open, and both men lift you to your feet, helping you out of the warehouse and into the back seat of the Riviera.

You drive for what feels like hours. You watch snow covered trees whip past your window, and watch the little skull ornament hanging from the rear view mirror bounce with every pothole. You finally pull over along the road next to a lake, and you throw a quizzical look to Wrench, who simply smiles at you in return. It is not a comforting smile.

“Boss sure loves his ice fishing. Can't understand why, but he does. Come on, then.” Numbers pulls you out of the car, and the three of you trudge wordlessly through the snowy woods towards the lake.

You can see the fishing shack, and it's very clear to you Fargo isn't there. Nobody is there. There's no smoke coming from the stovepipe, and there were no other vehicles where Wrench had parked. It's immediately obvious to you that Numbers had lied, that they're going to kill you out there. You spin around and grab Number's sleeve.

“Please,” you beg “Please just make it quick. You promised if I was cooperative you'd make it quick. Please don't make me suffer.” The expression on Numbers face indicates he knows the jig is up. He looks to Wrench and signs something. You turn to see Wrench's expression harden, then soften again slightly as he looks at you. He nods, and Numbers grabs you by the back of the neck and drags you to the fishing hole, forcing you to kneel in front of it. He pulls out his gun and pushes it against the back of your head. You curse yourself for not grabbing your cell phone back at the house. Who would have thought that one little mistake could cost so much?

“Normally, we'd just tape you up and throw you in alive, but since you were so very, very helpful...” Everything goes black and silent before he finishes his sentence.

 

 


End file.
